


To die at your enemy's hands

by Socrates_oppa (Lully_Lightwood)



Category: Ancient History RPF, Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: Ancient History, Ancient Rome, Angst, Classics, Gay, Historically Accurate, History, Literary References & Allusions, Lovers, M/M, Politics, Roma | Rome, Smut, War, bad boy catilina, conflicts, nerd cicero, oh god I should probably just stop studying this shit look where I've ended up, romans, sexy villain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lully_Lightwood/pseuds/Socrates_oppa
Summary: When Cicero entered the senate on the 5th December of 63 BC and started lecturing Catilina with one which would have become the greatest oration of all times, many emotions spilled from his words: spite, indignation, rage, hate, abhorrence.Words flowed like the malicious torrent of crime and wrongdoings Catilina had committed. But had they not know each other before?  Were these feelings authentic or were they born out of sake for the state? The hatred that ran so deep in his veins was pure or conflicted and mingled with other obscure feelings, feelings to never being discovered?When they first met each other the two were in their twenties, young and ambitious. What had happened?
Relationships: Lucius Sergius Catilina/Marcus Tullius Cicero, Marcus Tullius Cicero/Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, Marcus Tullius Cicero/Res publica
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	To die at your enemy's hands

**Author's Note:**

> This story begins during the Social war (91-88 BC) when Cicero, Catilina and Pompey first met each other still in their early twenties. I'm trying to make this historically accurate (screw me!)  
> I will leave some notes at the end concerning the use of some specific vocabulary, enjoy!

Life in a Roman legion wasn’t easy, not even for a young, mild and ambitious 20-year-old man coming from the equestrian class such as Marcus Tullius Cicero. He was well aware of who were the people mistreated the most - the plebs, obviously –with all the subtle bullying even in front of their superiors, insensitively turning a blind eye to whatever relationship was established among the soldiers. Nevertheless, that was a normal situation to be expected in every army, and it wasn’t even the worst part of war: the sweat, the screams, the clangs of swords, the bloodbaths, those haunted Cicero at night and he was tossing and turning in his tent until he finally managed to fall in a dreamless slumber.  
His nimble and sick constitution wasn’t suitable for a soldier, and that was why he usually preferred managing the finances or doing all the paperwork the other youngsters would abhor as much as he abhorred the use of violence. He must admit, sometimes he felt envious of those who, despite their age, used the war to make a name for themselves and start climbing up the cursus honorum even before doing politics. Among the soldiers, there were already a few names which run from lip to lip as the soldiers were used to spend most of their time together: news spreadt like wildfire in the camp, and in a batting of eye everyone knew that the son of their general, Pompey, was always in the first lines right behind the veterans. Just an example. Surprisingly enough, Cicero found himself quite engaged in this young man, and even if they couldn’t properly call each other friends, still Pompey was one of his closest acquaintances, this resulting in them often eating in the same spot of the long common table and chatting a bit.  
It was one of those days, in which the setting sun shone vividly, projecting harsh shadows on his companions talking to each other in little groups.  
The muffled sound of some people whispering made him avert his attention from his meal to them; dark, clear bright eyes fixed onto him.  
“Catilina, what are you looking at?”  
The intense glare softened when the edges of a pretty mouth turned upwards: “Nothing, I just seemed to spot an interesting sight.”  
The soldiers previously whispering all but silently turned to look in the same direction as the guy who talked, their scrutinizing session not really subtle.  
Cicero lowered his gaze, sighing, he had never found himself involved in petty matters, neither was he fond of his peers’ gossiping: since that guy looked as if he had discovered something amusing while looking at him he could as well share it.  
“That’s Catalina- Pompey mumbled without lifting his gaze from food – He’s quite popular in our century, you might have heard of him.”  
Cicero smiled: “As if.”  
He stole another glance at the man from before, who kept staring at him with an ambiguous air; uneasiness created a knot in his stomach and he quickly escaped the sight.  
Pompey stopped his cup midway, an aggravated look on his face: “My bad, I know you’re more the scholarly type but I thought that you, at least, - he emphasized by agitating the wine in a grandiose manner- would have paid attention to what’s going on around here.”  
The young man sipped the watered wine slowly, putting his cup down to answer: “If it doesn’t concern the state, why would I care? I bet he’s a patrician making a fuss just to search approval for when he’ll have to escalate the cursus honorum back in Rome.”  
“Careful with words.” Pompey reprimanded more amused than resentful, “You’re not in a position in which you can insult one of the Sergii line without having repercussions.”  
Cicero glanced at his companion, a faint sparkle of victory in young, ambitious eyes: “So he is a patrician trying to stand out, after all.”  
“On the contrary, you would be doomed weren’t you so good at figures and management, so keep that sharp tongue of yours under control.”  
“What’s his praenomen then?”  
Pompey glanced at him. “You’re interested in him as well, I see! He’s Lucius Sergius Catilina, older than us by a couple years if I’m not wrong.”  
Cicero was about to reply when Pompey promptly interrupted him with a “Quit it, they’re talking about you again and I want to hear.”  
He swallowed another mouthful of food, with apparent nonchalance, and started to listen as well: the voices were loud enough for them to perfectly hear everything, Cicero involuntary lifted an eyebrow, he wasn’t sure that that could be called whispering at all.  
“Who’s that guy in front of Pompey? I’ve never saw him, is he really part of our century?”  
The young man named Catilina scolded him ironically: “What are you talking about? Even if he doesn’t stand out from the mob it doesn’t consequentially mean that he is a nobody. - he turned to glance directly at Cicero, smiling – I assume it is like this, at least. What’s his name? I don’t know him as well.”  
Cicero clutched his cup, his gaze fixed on the semi-transparent dark liquid, lit by the last rays of sun of a red tint which was disturbingly close to blood’s.  
Meanwhile a third soldier lowered his voice, but not enough to avoid him hear his own name and the stifled chuckles of the group.  
“Cicero you said? Jupiter, what a curious name!”  
Cicero felt sick.  
He heard an indistinct “Don’t mind them” coming from Pompey, but he was already excusing himself to go to his tent, thinking the few hours left before the curfew could help him let off steam.  
Luckily enough, since he had grown familiar with helping with the army’s paperwork thank to Pompey, his tent wasn’t really distant from the principals’ one, and in a couple of minutes he reached it just to come out with a book under his arm and direct himself in a spot right outside the perimeter of tents he had secured himself in those past days of them stationing there while waiting for further orders.  
He was just about to unceremoniously drop himself on the wet grass under a tree when a voice startled him from behind:  
“Marcus Tullius Cicero, right?”  
Cicero turned to the source of the voice just to find the same provocative patrician from before, holding a charismatic smile and cold eyes.  
“Lucius Sergius Catilina”, Cicero acknowledged, “Were you following me?” he asked not concealing the remaining bitterness of having been laughed at.  
“It’s a pleasure to finally get to know you.” Catilina deliberately avoided the question, honeyed voice having the opposite effect of calming Cicero. “You had caught my eyes before.”  
Was that supposed to be a compliment?  
“I’m afraid I can’t possibly say the same.”  
Catilina’s thin lips formed a smile, eyes flickering with a glint of amusement: “I came in order to apologize on behalf of my companions, since you seemed to have overheard our conversation. There was no offensive intent in our words, we were genuinely interested in knowing who you were.”  
Cicero clutched his fists, gathering all his patience not to let his tongue slip and insult the hell out of this guy’s lineage.  
He held his gaze proudly, letting his words spill slowly and steadily like water and hoping this could prevent Lucius Sergius Catilina from making fun of him: “I am extremely displeased to have seemed to eavesdrop your conversation during our meal. However, I would advise you and your companions to keep your voices lower in order not to let other people hear your insults, unless you do it purposefully.”  
Catilina looked at him intently and acted as if he didn’t know anything about the matter, a small pout was starting to form on the older’s man features.  
“You are wronging me, Marcus Tullius- Catilina replied feigning hurt on his attractive face -I absolutely had no intention to do harm, we were barely having a normal conversation.”  
“If you were just having a normal conversation with your peers then I don’t see the necessity of following me all the way until here.” Cicero replied sharply.  
“Peers- Catilina scrunched his nose, spelling the word slowly as if savouring it and discovering his bitter taste. -I wouldn’t exactly call that bunch of brainless aristocratics that way.”, he then smirked, lifting his gaze to meet Cicero’s.  
“I honestly think you’d make a better candidate weren’t if…”  
The patrician trailed off, on his part quite enjoying the endearing sight of the young man trying not to blow a fuse in front of him.  
Cicero could not avoid noticing how the young man’s feature had a nobility, a fascinating grace in the high cheekbones framed by a sharp jawline, that he himself would never have, and it contributed to make him deepen his scowl: “Weren’t it for what?”  
Catilina’s eyes lingered on him a little bit more, the scrutinizing gaze made him feel naked under the man’s black iris and he recoiled in horror.  
Catilina threw his head backward, laughing: “Am I scaring you, Marcus Tullius?”  
He lowered his head in order to directly meet Cicero’s eyes, still slightly shorter than him, but the smirk on his face, on the contrary, didn’t waver the slightest.  
“You know, I’m much friendlier once you get to know me.”  
Cicero swallowed, he hadn’t missed how Catilina had avoided answering all his questions, but at the moment he found himself more preoccupied to understand to which grade of friendliness their relationship should extend.  
“I’m not sure I’d like to get to know you, Catilina. I accept your apologies, but now I would prefer to be left on my own.”  
“Much the lone wolf, aren’t you? I think I’ll keep you company for a while then.”  
Cicero had let go of his rage at this point, and his eyes pleaded with exasperation: “This is just deliberately avoiding doing everything I say, do you even know how a normal conversation is supposed to work?”  
The patrician tilted his head, a crooked, alluring expression blooming on his rosy lips: “I don’t want our relationship to be normal, Cicero. You look interesting.”  
The young man retreated a step, finding himself against the damp tree bark but sustaining that intense gaze: “I don’t want us to have any relationship at all, but thank you for the offer anyway.”  
Catilina brought a hand to his chest, his pretty feature contracted in a pained expression: “You are refusing my friendship, Cicero? What have I done to you?”  
Cicero couldn’t help rolling his eyes and the exasperation of the gest seemed to stir irony in Catilina’s eyes.  
“What do we have here?” he swiftly took the long forgotten book from Cicero’s arms, quickly flipping through the pages.  
Cicero was about to protest when surprise painted on Catilina’s face and he spoke again: “Oh? Greek?- he gave Cicero a bemused glance, reading the title on the first page -So you really are a nerd, uhm.”  
“Is there something wrong in preferring literature rather than violence?” there was no longer the need to pretend he actually enjoyed being in an army, the man was smart enough to have figured it out on his own.  
“Not at all, not at all”, Catilina added with a condescending smile, “I had already figured from your… uhm… physical appearance.”  
Cicero sighed, although he hadn’t a muscular and athletic physique, being in the army had at least helped him improve his sick constitution and he had gained weight and colour in comparison to his teen-self: why would this man come for his looks?  
As Catilina had done multiple times in their conversation, he deliberately ignored the comment and asked his book back, receiving a displeased glance from the older man: “I was just about to compliment you on the choice”, he pointed out caressing the edge of the book with the tip of his index finger, “Laws by Plato, an interesting read. I thought someone like you would be more of a romantic type and I was afraid you were reading the symposium.”  
Cicero lifted an eyebrow, probably that was the first interesting thing that the other party had said.  
“So you have read them as well?- Cicero scoffed –Though I wouldn’t call the symposium a romantic read, more a particular research on the nature of love.”  
Catilina laughed at the sudden change in atmosphere but decided to simply go along with it.  
“My bad, obviously something that talks about the relationship between two men can’t be defined romantic.- he interrupted himself for a moment, pensive –Perhaps you prefer Sappho?”  
“Ah, this time is two women, isn’t it?” It was Cicero’s turn to stifle a chuckle before it escaped his lips: “As much as I appreciate poetry, this interest of mine can’t be equalled to the one in politics.”  
Catilina started to walk back to the camp, inviting Cicero to follow, and in that moment he noticed that the sun had long since set, and the purplish sky provided scarce light in comparison to the one of the torches, whose dancing flames cast harsh shadow on the patrician’s feature.  
“We do have something in common, then- Catilina smiled ambiguously while leading their way into the streets- I want to undertake the political career as well.”  
Cicero stopped a smile from blooming on his lips, he had been right since the beginning, then: an ambitious patrician trying to stand out to clear his path into the cursus honorum.  
“Yes, I figured from… uhm… your attitude.” Cicero mimicked stopping in his track, they had to part ways.  
Catilina smirked at Cicero’s snarky reply and stopped as well, turning to face him.  
“My tent is that way”, the patrician pointed in a direction and Cicero followed his finger, a puzzled expression, “just in case; it has been a pleasure to talk to you, Cicero.”  
He still wore a confused expression when he acknowledged the greetings, not returning the whole formula since he was still annoyed at the man’s insistence.  
“Catilina.” He nodded and directed himself to his tent, not before going to Pompey’s one to pick up the new paperwork, as per usual.  
As the candle light made the wet ink shimmer and dry, a thought of raven eyelashes hiding equally black eyes resurfaced in his mind. A quick stroke of ink, and it was all gone, alike to the grey-ish smoke arising from the candle.

**Author's Note:**

> Cursus honorum: as you may know, every Roman who undertook the political career had to follow a fixed path, in which he would obtain a series of role in order of importance, and the last step was becoming consul for one year. In order to start the cursus honorum you were required to complete the military service, compulsory in Republican period.  
> Century: A Roman legion was divided in 10 cohoortes, every cohort was forned of 6 centuries and a century was made of 80 men.  
> Laws, Symposium: books by Plato, a Greek philopher  
> Sappho: Greek poet, yeah, the lesbian one.


End file.
